


Elsewhere

by InfiniteJediLove



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Hurt Obi-Wan, Jedi trying to refrain from aggressive negotiation, M/M, Star Wars AU, jedi husbands, jinnobi, non-explicit romantic scene, protective Qui-Gon, war zone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 19:34:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13508328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InfiniteJediLove/pseuds/InfiniteJediLove
Summary: Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon have spent months on the planet of Far’Set, desperately trying to negotiate a peace settlement between warring clans. However, their mission is soon changed by something unexpected that will lead them both to a greater understanding of loss, and of hope.





	Elsewhere

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, I’m sorry for not getting a Jinnobi fic out to you all sooner. I’ve currently been dealing with a couple stressful things in my life as well as major writer’s block and so writing has been a slow process for me this winter. Anyway, I originally meant for this to be a cave fic, and then a fix-it-fic but somehow it is neither, and maybe both? I don’t know… but I hope you all like it! 
> 
> First half is Obi-Wan’s pov, second half is Qui-Gon’s.

_It began as it had ended. Qui-Gon in his arms, their bodies trembling with exhaustion and pain. He saw the shock in Qui-Gon’s deep blue eyes, felt large fingers touch him tenderly, searching for that last feel of their skin meeting. Obi-Wan watched light disappear from the universe even as evil was defeated. He knew what loss was, he had been there to see everything he loved fall apart._

_But it was not over._

 

The sound of blasterfire woke him from troubled sleep. Obi-Wan shook his head to clear it, climbing unsteadily to his feet. He had to hunch over, the ceiling of the escape tunnel so low he could not stand up properly. He brushed dirt from his ragged robes. What was left of his Jedi tunics and cloak had long since ceased to be presentable and he gave up with a small shrug. The escape tunnel merged into another and he found it easier to crawl through each access tunnel, scraping against dirt walls and emerging breathless and even dirtier from the last. His boots hit stone and he was finally able to straighten up, the high ceiling above him vaulted, shaped by the mountainside. He was still underground but the carved steps across the main area led upward. It took nearly an hour to reach the top of the stairs, his face tilted up, skin tingling at the subtle current of fresh air. The wind felt odd against him, he had rarely been outside over the last few months. The steps ended abruptly unto a high ledge, the space large enough to walk along comfortably, rock piled at the edge to prevent falls to the now distant ground. Obi-Wan stepped close to the side, one hand reaching out and touching the boulders. He turned his head as he felt another approach him, stopping to stand near him.

“Did you sleep?” Qui-Gon asked softly.

Obi-Wan gave a small nod but knew his weariness was too apparent to hide. Qui-Gon looked similarly exhausted, his long graying hair pulled back in a loose tangled tail, the faint lines on his face more visible. Dirt streaked the man’s face, staining his short beard. There were distant shots below them but neither of them flinched. They had become accustom to the long battles on Far’Set, the brief days of truce before another fight broke out. The war no longer shocked Obi-Wan. There were other more pressing matters.

“It may mean nothing,” Qui-Gon spoke hesitantly, his voice quiet, sensing Obi-Wan’s unease. Obi-Wan shook his head wordlessly, brow furrowed.

“We must speak to him again,” he finally murmured, not looking at Qui-Gon.

There was silence for a long time, wind blowing harshly against them. Both of them turned as a guard approached, looking just as filthy and as tired as they were. Qui-Gon nodded to Obi-Wan, silently trading places with the guard who took up his spot, surveying the distant skirmishes below with a drawn face.

The tunnels, or warren, as the Welvori clan called it, branched outward underground to hundreds of other tunnels. Obi-Wan had no idea how far the warren went under the mountain, he knew only the main tunnel where the Welvori soldiers met, the escape tunnel Qui-Gon and him stayed in, the areas where weapons and food were stored, and the prisoner tunnel. The Welvori prison was the furthest underground they had been and the only guarded inner tunnel. There had been few prisoners over the last few months, many chose death in battle over capture. Those that had been caught spoke little, and neither Obi-Wan or Qui-Gon could find information that suggested an end to the brutal civil war they were caught in. They moved without speaking through the tunnels. Words hardly mattered now, they had only their defenses, the battle outside pale in comparison to what weighed on Obi-Wan’s mind.

It took a long time to reach the prisoner tunnel. It was a small room with a higher ceiling than the escape tunnel, the walls bare and dirty. The prisoners sat chained in cells except for the oldest one who was seated on the floor of the tunnel, a chain around his ankle securing him to the wall. Two guards stood near the tunnel exit, stepping aside immediately as Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon made their way down the steep tunnel stairs. The ground was more rock than dirt this deep underground, making a prison escape even more unlikely. Still, Obi-Wan felt uncertain and he stepped carefully into the torch lit area. The old man sitting on the floor stood swiftly, eyes fixed on both of them. Obi-Wan looked away. The man’s robes were tattered and stained, giving his thin build a ragged appearance although he moved with grace and power. The Force was alive in the room, an almost unbearable noise that only the three of them could hear.

“You have questions.” the older man stated.

“Your story is difficult to believe.” Qui-Gon said softly, stepping forward. The prisoner shifted instinctively as if to move toward Qui-Gon, than stilled, watching the man with wide eyes, his expression strained.

“It is the truth.” he finally replied. His voice was worn with exhaustion but still refined, carrying a hint of authority and dignity beneath terrible sadness. The Force was unsettled, almost shuddering in Obi-Wan’s head as he looked into the face of his older self.

It was nearly impossible to think that they were the same. The old man in front of them had stated his age to be only in his late fifties yet his short untidy hair and beard were completely white, all trace of auburn gone. He wore tunics that brushed the floor and a very old faded cloak. They were the same height but the prisoner was thinner than Obi-Wan’s lithe frame. The man’s cheekbones were noticeable, his cloak concealing what was no doubt a half-starved body. Lines had appeared around his eyes and mouth, though there was something youthful still about his features with the softer line of his jaw and the largeness of his eyes. Their eyes were the same indefinable color, at once blue, green, and gray.

Although Qui-Gon remained skeptical of the man’s story, there was no mistaking the similarities between both Obi-Wans. Their Force presence was almost the same. The older man was more powerful, even surpassing Qui-Gon’s mastery of the Force, but his mind was….damaged in some way. The bond that gleamed between Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon’s souls was gone, ripped away. Obi-Wan did not have to ask how. The prisoner had explained everything the moment he had been captured three days previous. Five hours of conversation, mostly his older self describing a universe in ruins, the Jedi hunted to extinction. It had been harrowing to listen to, worse was the way the old man had looked, alone, burdened with sorrow. His gaze had remained on Qui-Gon throughout the entire account, as it was now. Obi-Wan swallowed. He could not bear to be reminded again that Qui-Gon would die in two years, that Obi-Wan would lose him after so little time.

“If you are from the future, whatever possible future that is, how did you get here?” Qui-Gon asked, ignoring the guards behind him who shifted uncertainly at his question. The old man shook his head while looking down and Obi-Wan saw Qui-Gon glance away, aware of Obi-Wan often making the same gesture.

The prisoner had still not been able to answer the question. He could only confirm that he had been on a desert planet named Tatooine for a number of years after the fall of the Jedi. Obi-Wan did not think he was lying, it was clear from the man’s Force presence that he was as bewildered about his presence there as they were.

“Have you come to change things?” Obi-Wan questioned softly. It was the first time he had addressed his older self.

“Things have already changed,” The old man said wearily, eyes still fixed on Qui-Gon, “you will know now what will happen if you take the mission to Naboo.”

The dream surfaced powerfully in Obi-Wan’s mind again. Qui-Gon in his arms, the man telling him that it was too late…. The images were sharp, painful, tearing at their bond from this presence that was and was not a stranger. Obi-Wan stumbled, a hand going to his temple, Qui-Gon reaching to steady him.

“Do not harm him!” Qui-Gon snapped, his voice harsh as he looked hard at the prisoner who appeared unsteady himself, his face pale, gaze distant before his expression focused once more on Qui-Gon.

“I apologize, I cannot shield in your presence, the bond still recognizes –” his older self faltered, closing his eyes briefly as if to ward off pain.

Obi-Wan felt the invasive touch fade, though not entirely disappear. He dropped his hand at his side, straightening up and studying the prisoner. It was not dislike or anger that he felt, only sympathy. He knew only a fraction of what the other man must suffer just being near the existent bond. His older self was clearly unable to stop himself from reaching automatically for the Force connection with Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan did not know how the man endured being so near something so unattainable…. His breath caught, his body chained as the other Jedi’s was as the knowledge of Qui-Gon’s death broke over them both.

“It is to be expected.” Qui-Gon spoke quietly, addressing Obi-Wan’s older self, his hand was still on Obi-Wan’s arm but his voice was much gentler than before, the Force automatically attempting to console the other Obi-Wan.

A distant blast came and Qui-Gon glanced upward,

“We are between warring factions,” he murmured, dark blue eyes watching the old man who glanced toward Obi-Wan, “you were caught on the other side. We cannot release you until a truce has been declared and we have no way of returning you to your time.”

The prisoner inclined his head slightly, his expression grave.

“I understand.”

* * *

They returned to the escape tunnel they lived in without speaking. The area seemed even smaller with Qui-Gon and him both in it. They sat cross-legged on the floor, the low ceiling preventing either one of them from easily moving around.

“He may not be who he says he is.” Qui-Gon suggested, brow furrowed as he looked down at his large dirt-stained hands.

“He is me.” Obi-Wan replied firmly, mind still aching from experiencing his older self’s loss. How had he lived with all that pain inside him for so long?

Qui-Gon opened his mouth, than closed it. He looked at Obi-Wan, gaze indecisive. It was strange to see Qui-Gon so confused, but then the last few days had been disconcerting. Obi-Wan could no longer believe that their mission was simply routine. The planetary war had lasted so long and this new captive had unleashed possibilities he still could not face. Qui-Gon reached out, large hand resting on top of Obi-Wan’s momentarily.

“Your lives are different.” He whispered roughly, drawing Obi-Wan’s body to him suddenly and kissing him, hands coming up to cup the younger man’s face.

There was grief as much as desire in the kiss, in both of their thoughts. Obi-Wan’s mouth opened to his husband’s, eager to separate the past from them. Qui-Gon kissed him fully, breaking away only to press his mouth along the man’s jaw, lips lingering at Obi-Wan’s pulse. The texture of his beard felt smooth, softly furred against Obi-Wan’s collarbone as Qui-Gon tilted Obi-Wan’s head back further to kiss the base of the smaller Jedi’s throat. His larger frame moved decisively as he guided their bodies to the thin blanket they had slept atop since living in the warren. Obi-Wan slid a hand to the nape of Qui-Gon’s neck, feeling the warm weight of the man’s hair tangled against his fingers. He closed his eyes, focusing on the deep openmouthed kisses and the sudden desperation for the connection that shone between them.

Hands were pushing tunics open, revealing skin pale from their time underground. Obi-Wan arched into Qui-Gon’s touch, breaking the kisses breathlessly to unfasten the man’s utility belt with fumbling fingers. Qui-Gon’s tunics hung open, his chest and stomach well-muscled and lean. Although older, he was still very fit from his years of Jedi training, his body strong. Obi-Wan tried not to think of where the Sith’s lightsaber would stab his beloved, where the prisoner had said death had happened. He pulled Qui-Gon down on top of him, lost himself in the warm wetness of the man’s mouth, the arms that held him close, the feel of being surrounded by the man’s strength, protected from whatever pain the future brought. He could sense the same need for forgetting in Qui-Gon, the same desire to drive away the threats that were already emerging in the universe. To push aside the deep, almost unbearable grief that had clung to his older self. At the sudden thought of the other man, Qui-Gon responded with his own sadness. Obi-Wan pulled back, looking up at him.

“You love him.” he stated quietly.

Qui-Gon sat up slightly, still kneeling over Obi-Wan, his thick graying hair had come loose from where it had been tied, it tumbled around his shoulders and into his face.

“I love you.” He said emphatically, but Obi-Wan knew there wasn’t a difference, not really. He reached up, touching the older man’s face,

“We are the same,” he whispered as Qui-Gon closed his eyes briefly, turning his head into the touch, mouth brushing Obi-Wan’s thumb.

Qui-Gon’s eyes opened, their color so blue in the dimly lit tunnel. He leaned down, kissing Obi-Wan hard again, stealing Obi-Wan’s breath away and causing a sound to leave Obi-Wan unbidden as they rolled onto their sides, Qui-Gon unfastening the last of the ties keeping the younger man’s tunic closed.

“I won’t die,” Qui-Gon vowed, breath warm against Obi-Wan’s collarbone and chest, “I won’t leave you with that sorrow.”

Obi-Wan clung to him, knowing even as he lost himself in the intricate joy of their bodies meeting that there would never be enough time.

* * *

_… …The red dirt in front of him was churned into deep ruts, exposing rock and sand. Metal smoldered as he picked his way over the ruins of another massive droid. The very air felt scorched, his body aching with the damaged call of the Force. Obi-Wan limped heavily, nearly falling, catching himself on the half-buried hull of a ruined ship. He could see the shapes of pyres burning in the distance, one for each Jedi lost._

_“This can’t ever happen again.” His apprentice spoke roughly behind him, Anakin’s blue eyes dark, his powerful Force presence consumed with anger and pain._

_Their own physical injuries were superficial compared to the agony of the Force absorbing souls lost too soon. Obi-Wan knew he should speak, should say something to stem the fury that was already turning to revenge inside his apprentice, but there were no words, nothing but the broken edges of loss closing in on him again and the fires that burned along the surface of Geonosis… …_

 

Obi-Wan woke suddenly, gasping. Qui-Gon’s arm tightened around him, the older man murmuring in his sleep as Obi-Wan’s distress filtered through their bond. In seconds, his husband had woken, head turning in the dimly lit room, the lantern swaying above them throwing heavy shadows over their naked bodies.

“What is it?” Qui-Gon asked softly, eyes alert. His large hand ran down Obi-Wan’s spine, the touch comforting. Obi-Wan shook his head, resting his cheek against the warmth of Qui-Gon’s chest.

“Nothing,” he whispered, “just a dream.”

* * *

It was only Qui-Gon’s duty as a Jedi that had him leave Obi-Wan’s side the next day where the younger man was stationed in the main area, reviewing supplies with different Welvori fighters. He knew Obi-Wan was exhausted from days of not sleeping well, although it was uncommon for Obi-Wan to have nightmares anymore, as Qui-Gon’s Force presence was able to soothe his husband automatically while they both slept. The dreams that Obi-Wan experienced now were not something the younger man spoke of but they had worsened over the last few days, causing Qui-Gon to suspect that it had something to do with the prisoner.

Qui-Gon frowned, he found it difficult to consider their strange prisoner, of the way the Jedi was and was not Obi-Wan. The sadness in the man’s eyes and the damaged bond was already enough to break Qui-Gon with dread for what the future held. Determinedly, he turned his mind to the task ahead of him. He carefully moved through the large main exit tunnel. Each turn of the tunnel was heavily guarded but he was familiar enough to the Welvori that he was allowed to pass without question. He took a deep breath, the air cooler than he was accustomed to as the tunnel led out into weak sunlight.

Negotiations had been underway since their arrival on Far`Set months ago. Every few weeks Qui-Gon was able to arrange a conference between the Welvori and the Setias clans. Momentary truces were enacted and carefully enforced during that time, but peace always remained out of reach. There was too much ancient history between the warring sides. As it was, the Setias were angered that Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon resided with the Welvori, a move they felt was favoritism toward the mountain clans, as opposed to the tactical decision it had been. Living in underground tunnels was safer than the open camps the Setias lived in, especially when one considered the Setias deep suspicion of outsiders. They refused to speak to the Welvori directly and shunned Obi-Wan. If Qui-Gon hadn’t earned their respect on an earlier assignment to Far`Set years ago, he too would have been considered a threat to their culture. Each negotiation session with the Setias had been more difficult to obtain than the last. At this point, peace appeared impossible.

Still, the Setias were fair, despite their mistrust of strangers and their viciousness in battle. Honor meant a great deal to both sides and while a truce existed, no harm would happen to either side. Safe passage was granted to him and the Welvori leaders to meet the Setias at neutral ground, a barren rocky strip of land that divided the feuding clans’ territories of mountains and open plains. It was barely a kilometer from the warren but the ground was heavily scarred with fighting, the stench of death lingering, though bodies had been removed the moment the truce was called. Qui-Gon ignored the weapons trained on him from all sides, moving past the Welvori and toward the circle of Setias warriors who watched him warily. He was not afraid, only frustrated by the lack of any real progress over the months he had been on Far’Set. He wished he had Obi-Wan with him, he highly valued his husband’s perceptiveness and diplomatic skill.

The Setias leader stepped forward, her dark eyes wideset and watchful. Her gray skin was paler than that of the Welvori, the rough texture painted with various markings that swirled over her huminoid build in bright blues and greens. All of the Setias had similar markings, even their makeshift armor was painted with cryptic and colorful designs.

“You come before us for what purpose?” the leader intoned, her voice low, staring hard at Qui-Gon who tilted his head in a bow.

“Negotiations must be resumed, neither side can afford to suffer more losses.”

The Setias leader lifted her jaw, lip curled condescendingly,

“We have no losses, our warriors gain ground everyday,” she boasted, turning to gesture to the Welvori who tightened their grip on their weapons, “if the mountain-dwellers are too weak to continue a honorable –“

“There is no honor in war. There is only death.” Qui-Gon cut through the leader’s speech, aware that many of the Welvori were eyeing the Setias with vengeful anger.

The Setias leader turned to him, opening her mouth to speak. In that half-second Qui-Gon knew something had gone terribly wrong. A silent warning pressed like fire against his mind as the mountainside behind him exploded. He was thrown off his feet, shoulder hitting the ground hard, his breath slammed out of him. His torso seared with intense pain, his hands struggling to grab hold of the rock beneath him as the bond between Obi-Wan and him expanded in blinding overwhelming awareness before abruptly closing to him. The agony tearing through his lungs and ribs disappeared, Qui-Gon gasped, hand feeling automatically at his side. There was no injury, the wounds along his torso were not his own but Obi-Wan’s that he had felt. The ground was still shaking. He pushed himself to his feet at the sight of smoke spiraling out of the tunnel opening of the warren. A figure was moving through the smoke. He grabbed the Setias leader as she came closer, his hand tight on her arm, his mind burning with pain at being shut off from the bond.

“If this was planned...” he hissed brokenly, aware only distantly that his anger was frightening her, his head pounded with the cries of the injured, the terrible silence of Obi-Wan.

The Setias leader held up her hands in protest, her wide eyes round with shock. The battle paint along her skin was smeared, marred with blood. She was clearly as horrified at the attack as the Welvori near them who were wailing in pain and grief. Qui-Gon dropped his hand away. He had never imagined an attack possible during a truce, but he had little concern about finding the culprit. He had to get to Obi-Wan. Through the sealed bond only glimpses of pain came. Obi-Wan was badly injured but attempting to block the worst of it from the bond. Qui-Gon stumbled, uncaring of the scorching heat as he plunged into the smoke. The entrance tunnel was half-filled with fallen rock, his lightsaber melting enough debris to cut his way through. He could barely see, the ground shaking around him, rock toppling from the ceiling, the distant cries louder.

He burst into the main area and was instantly aware that it was where the explosion had taken place. Half the room was caved in, the other blown apart enough to see light through the broken ceiling. A guard reached for him as he passed and Qui-Gon dropped to his knees by the man’s side. The Welvori soldier was injured but not severely, his words slurred with fear as he spoke quickly.

“The others used escape tunnels to get out. I don’t know how many…”

“Obi-Wan?” Qui-Gon asked, his heart racing as the guard shook his head, blood running freely from his scalp.

“He went below…” the guard gasped, his hoarse voice almost unheard over the shouts of the wounded.

Qui-Gon stared at the man, realizing that Obi-Wan must have gone to save the prisoners. It was the tunnel in the warren that led the furthest underground. A numb fear filled him so that Qui-Gon did not think of the rock still falling around him, the shapes moving frantically through the main area. The Welvori soldiers outside had arrived to help. Some of the people entering the cavern were Setias warriors, unhesitatingly trying to heal the wounded.

Qui-Gon stood as a Setias approached the injured guard, a medkit in her hand. The ground shook again and screams came as more rock fell but he was blind to everything but the need to find his husband. The Force felt strange, off-kilter, echoing oddly as he ran through the smoke. Obi-Wan was still attempting to protectively block him from the pain-filled bond, but he was weakening. Qui-Gon could not trace him, could do more than cling to the tentative link still between them. He was crawling through darkness, staggering down stairs, ignoring the rock that tumbled past him, debris hitting his shoulders and arms as he struggled to move deeper into the mountain. The bond was fading and Qui-Gon reached out with his entire mind, desperate not to lose this last connection to his husband. And than suddenly Obi-Wan was there, something else pressing through the Force as a wave of energy.

Qui-Gon rounded the corner of a tunnel, stumbling to a halt at the sight before him. Obi-Wan was leaning against a shuddering rock wall, barely conscious, his tunics stained with blood and ash. The only thing keeping him on his feet was the prisoner who had Obi-Wan’s arm over his shoulder and was trying to help him up the stairs. The man looked up sharply at Qui-Gon’s appearance, his eyes wide, a cut across his lined brow. There was no time for words or explanations. Qui-Gon moved forward, the old man helping him gather Obi-Wan into his arms. Blood was seeping from the corner of Obi-Wan’s mouth, his head lolling limply against his husband’s shoulder. He was barely alert but his gaze focused on Qui-Gon. He tried to speak, a ragged choked noise coming from his lips and Qui-Gon shook his head, wordless at the sight of such damage. The walls trembled around them. A hand closed over his arm, the prisoner’s Force sense overwhelmingly powerful, visibly pushing rock back as it fell toward them, all light extinguished besides the gleam of Force energy surrounding the man.

Qui-Gon had no memory for how they made it to the surface, he heard disjointed words, felt medics from both sides circle him as he fell to his knees, Obi-Wan’s pain seeping into him. The bond was fraying and he felt frantically at the wounds along Obi-Wan’s blood-soaked chest and stomach. He could feel the pain as if it were inside him, shrapnel digging deeper. His mind fell into Obi-Wan’s, everything about himself reaching for his husband, willing the man to live.

* * *

Medical supplies were suddenly available to the Welvori in an abundance that they had not had before. Setias healers freely offered their services, the truce still in effect so that any disputes were put aside to try to heal those injured and repair the damage left to the warren. Qui-Gon heard only scraps of information, his mind barely clear enough to process the truth as he sat on the narrow cots they had provided for the injured in the still standing medbay. An extremist group of Setias had splintered from the main army weeks ago and had used an informer to plant the explosives. The Setias leader had publicly denounced the group’s actions as dishonorable and seemed as willing as the Welvori to hunt down the extremists responsible.

Qui-Gon reached out, touching Obi-Wan’s shoulder, looking into the still face of the man he loved more than any other. The shrapnel from the bomb had torn deep into Obi-Wan’s torso. Healers had done what they could, but the blood loss had been severe. They had retreated from the crowded medbay, leaving Qui-Gon alone on the cot with Obi-Wan. What kept his husband’s heart beating wasn’t the bacta dripping into his system but the connection between their minds. Qui-Gon could feel exhaustion humming at the edges of him but he sat motionless, Obi-Wan’s hand in his. His thoughts surrounded his husband, keeping him from that final darkness. He felt someone enter the room, pausing a few feet away. Qui-Gon kept his gaze on Obi-Wan, speaking only after a long moment of silence.

“When will they find the extremist group who planted the explosion?” he demanded.

“I do not know.”

Qui-Gon turned, looking over his shoulder at the prisoner who stood watching him, still disheveled from the bombing, still burdened with sadness. Ash and dirt caught in his white short hair and beard, a burn along his neck had shredded part of the high collared brown shirt he wore beneath his long tunics.

“You were here.” Qui-Gon insisted roughly, unable to maintain the level of detachment he had earlier from the prisoner. The old man looked away before stepping closer, eyes fixed on Qui-Gon, their color so familiar that it was painful to look at him.

“There was no war on Far’Set. We were never assigned this mission.”

Qui-Gon stared at him, brow creased in a frown. He was exhausted, his mind moving slowly but the pieces came suddenly together and he looked up from where he sat, fully meeting the other man’s penetrating gaze.

“So this is not the same reality.”

The prisoner blinked than tilted his head in affirmation. They watched one another for a long time, the Force filled with the sense of familiar echoes. The thought was there, so simple that Qui-Gon was shocked it had taken this long for him to understand.

“You’re dead, aren’t you?” he asked quietly.

Obi-Wan’s older self did not answer, the look in his eyes said everything Qui-Gon needed to know. His hand moved gently, holding Obi-Wan’s hand tighter, hearing the ragged breathing of his husband fill the silent room.

“I thought I would be the one who died first.” Qui-Gon whispered.

The older man shook his head wearily, pulling his worn cloak closer to him.

“I do not know what will happen anymore.”

Qui-Gon turned away, looking down at Obi-Wan. He reached out, touching the man’s bruised face lightly. He had not truly believed the prisoner the way his husband had, when he had learned of the events that would take place. Still, it had been easier to accept that Obi-Wan would outlive him then the terrifying alternative. All his life Qui-Gon had embraced the unknown but now faced with the possibility that the future was once again impossible to predict, he felt lost.

“Why did you not tell us when you were captured?” he asked, stroking a hand through Obi-Wan’s short auburn hair, needing to touch to know that their souls were still connected.

The strangeness of everything weighed on him. He did not understand how Obi-Wan’s older self could be from somewhere else, could be dead and yet not. He heard the prisoner shift slightly, walking a few paces to the side, head turned toward the bodies on the beds laid out before them, many covered in shrouds.

“My mind has been distorted by events beyond my control,” the older man stated simply, though his voice had a strange tremor to it, the way Obi-Wan’s did when concealing deep emotion, “I have only just realized.”

Qui-Gon stared down at his fingers interlaced with Obi-Wan’s smaller ones. Everything seemed to be compiling, rising inside him so that he blinked back sudden tears.

If you’re dead then why are you here?” he asked hoarsely.

The older man stepped closer, moving to the other side of the bed, his gaze distant as he looked down at Obi-Wan’s still form.

“I am still Obi-Wan,” he said softly, his low voice echoing faintly in the underground room, “my mind is drawn to yours. For many years I have been wounded,” he looked sharply over at Qui-Gon, face lined with that terrible sadness, “the bond is always attempting to repair itself, to make contact with you. I am sorry.”

The fact that their soul bond was powerful enough to reach across time continuums should have shocked Qui-Gon more, but the very concept of reality seemed artificial compared to the truth in the old man’s eyes.

“How did you die?” Qui-Gon whispered, not knowing he was going to ask until he did.

The prisoner clasped hands behind his back, his expression suddenly shuttered.

“I faced the one who destroyed what was left of the Order.”

Ash fell from the man’s robes as he stepped further back, moving away from the beds and into the center of the room once more.

“Long ago, I vowed to live my life by Jedi law. It was a promise made no different than those made generations before me: to protect innocent lives and to never give into evil. When cornered by darkness, I chose death.” The prisoner turned, looking at Qui-Gon, gaze piercing, “Half my soul was already there.”

Qui-Gon looked into the man’s face, seeing the lines brought by age and suffering, the raggedness and starvation that spoke of struggle, and the loneliness so apparent in the other Jedi’s vivid eyes. It was a form of Obi-Wan that he hoped never to see and yet, his husband lay before him, alive only through the will of the Force.

“The negotiations must continue.” The man stated calmly.

Qui-Gon swallowed, nodding.

“Blood had been spilled on both sides,” The prisoner continued, “however, I believe this may be the best opportunity available for a more lasting truce.”

Qui-Gon inhaled slowly, hand moving to Obi-Wan’s shoulder. He thought of the Setias leader and the Welvori Council, the tentative beginnings there as both sides worked together to help the injured. It was more promising than anything had been but the cost of such comradeship had been horrific.

“We are still at war, the Setias only accept me as negotiator. Anyone else risks death.” He murmured, his voice echoing very slightly in the underground room.

The Setias warriors had fought with the Welvori for generations. If he refused to speak with them, they would retreat from any role other than continued violence. He was the only outside influence they allowed and the only nonbiased negotiator able to represent the Republic’s interests on the matter. Qui-Gon looked at Obi-Wan’s pale face. His fingers tightened on the man’s shoulder, the Force flowing through him into his husband, desperate to keep his beloved alive.

“If I leave him, he will die.” He whispered and did not recognize the sound of his own voice.

He heard the other Jedi shift behind him, the old man’s response so quiet that Qui-Gon almost did not hear it.

“Then allow me to go in your place. It is the only way to guarantee peace.”

Qui-Gon turned fully to look at the man, studying him closely, aware that the age shown there was something he would likely never see even if Obi-Wan recovered. There were too many years between their ages for them to grow old together at the same time. The man met his gaze, the dim light shining against his white hair, his beautiful eyes.

“I would still be losing you.” Qui-Gon said softly and the older man raised an eyebrow, tilting his head.

“I am already dead.” He pointed out calmly, his expression suddenly distant, “I cannot stay, Qui-Gon.”

It was too much to understand all at once, but Qui-Gon did in some way. He thought of how the bond between Obi-Wan and him kept his husband alive and how it had felt to see it broken in the prisoner. It had been too terrible for him to consider before but now he had no choice. He could not protect both Obi-Wans, could not ensure that either of them would survive.

“If you die again, will you see me?” he asked finally.

The prisoner’s eyes softened with sudden emotion. Qui-Gon knew that the other self he spoke of was separate from him in more ways than time but still deeply loved by the older man. If Qui-Gon could not keep his own bond with his husband, he would wish for it to be repaired between the prisoner and his other self.

“Yes,” the old man replied, gaze once more focused on something far away before it returned to Qui-Gon, “I believe this is only the beginning of my journey into the afterlife of the Force. When it is done, I will be by your side once more.”

It was not his side, any more than the man in front of him was Qui-Gon’s husband yet there seemed little distinction now between them and what they had been elsewhere.

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said softly, looking at the prisoner, unable to speak beyond the other Jedi’s name.

It was enough. The older man lowered his head, eyes wet when he looked up again. The sorrow that had been so much a part of him had disappeared, replaced with a powerful hope. He seemed filled with light, the Force humming in the quiet of the medbay. For a moment they only stared at one another, then the older man bowed very slightly and left the room. Qui-Gon sat very still, listening to the man’s footsteps fade into nothingness, feeling the great endlessness of the Force spread out before him.

He did not know who he had been in the other timeline, or even who Obi-Wan had been. He did not know if saying goodbye was harder now or later. There had been terrible loss in both their lives but no loss was without love, of that he was certain. Obi-Wan’s hand was still in his. Their souls were still connected by a bond that was suddenly stirring, unfurling into its full warmth.

It was not over.

**Author's Note:**

> So…what does everyone think?
> 
> I don’t blame you if you find this confusing as hell, it confuses me and I wrote it. What REALLY will confuse you is if you decide to consider it a sequel for my other fic Memory. Of course, it’s not one, but my sister did point out that it could potentially be, as that has a time-travel/alternate reality set up as well. It’s too mind-boggling to think of how that could all work out so needless to say, this is a stand-alone fic. 
> 
> I know it is a bit unclear about the whole thing so just to sum it up: older Obi-Wan Kenobi is from the main Star Wars timeline, but when he vanishes on the Death Star (after Darth Vader kills him), he presumably turns up on Far’Set in an alternate reality where he meets his younger self and Qui-Gon. The question that I’m still unsure of is, is the reality of Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon a definite alternative reality, or is it only a dream-state of older Obi-Wan’s as he is becoming a Force ghost? And does it make it any less real if it is? 
> 
> I guess lately I’ve been in a rather reflective place and have been considering the sort of inevitable things that we humans tend to avoid thinking much about and so I wanted to write about loss. But, I really dislike writing unhappy endings, so I did want to interject a sense of hope in the end. I chose to leave off a bit abruptly but please know that everything really does work out, Obi-Wan (younger Obi-Wan) wakes up and Qui-Gon helps him recover. Obi-Wan (older Obi-Wan) negotiates peace because he is mad skilled in that department and then he at some point moves on to the next step of becoming a Force ghost and reunites with his timeline’s Qui-Gon.


End file.
